


Sting Like a Bee

by BearlyWriting



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [17]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Bugs & Insects, Gen, Pain, Prompt: Poison/Venom, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 18:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21002462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BearlyWriting/pseuds/BearlyWriting
Summary: ”For a moment, he stays like that, face a tight mask of pain, one hand clasped over his throat, his whole body so tense that Keith can see him trembling even under his armour. Then he sinks to his knees in the mud with a grace that probably only Shiro could manage, and screams.”For the prompt "Poison/Venom" for the Bad Things Happen Bingo.





	Sting Like a Bee

Keith hates this planet.

The little village had been nice enough, a small collection of houses scattered across a wide grass plain, bordered on all sides by thick, green jungle. They had landed the lions right in the middle of the town. From a distance, it had seemed a small bald spot punched into the middle of an otherwise entirely green planet. Up close, it had seemed a little bigger, but the jungle had still loomed, an oppressive presence always at the edge of awareness.

Even then, Keith had felt a shiver of unease. It was utterly different to the wide, sandy expanse of Keith’s desert home.

Now, knee deep in mud and bordered on every side by thick green leaves, that grassy plain seems like a dream, and Keith longs for the open space with an intensity that surprises him. That unease has swollen to anger, thrumming hot underneath his skin. Keith wouldn’t call himself claustrophobic exactly, but the press of trees around him is definitely setting his teeth on edge.

At least the others seem to be struggling as much as he is.

“How much further is it to the village?”

Hunk’s voice is rough with exertion. There’s a sticky, slurping sound – horribly organic – as the Yellow Paladin struggles to drag one of his boots free from the mud. It’s everywhere: splashed right up Hunk’s thighs, smeared across Pidge’s cheek, caked into every joint. Keith is pretty sure there’s mud in his hair, slicking it against his neck. If they don’t get out of this jungle soon, Keith’s going to lose his temper – he can feel it bubbling under the surface of his skin, hot and tight, as if the mud is coating his entire body, trapping him beneath it. 

Up ahead, Shiro clears another swathe of foliage with a sweep of his prosthetic. He’s the only one who doesn’t seem to be struggling, even though he’s the one carrying the heavy sack they had filled with the flowers they were sent to collect. It’s slung easily over one shoulder whilst he uses his other arm to cut a path through the thick vegetation. 

“Not far,” he promises. 

Keith can’t tell if that’s true or not because he had lost all sense of direction the moment the trees had closed in around him. Everything looks the same amongst the foliage, endless green and brown crowding in from every angle. It’s impossible to even see the sky. 

“It was not far twenty minutes ago,” Lance complains, voice small and breathless behind Keith. “I’m giving up. Someone is going to have to carry me.”

Shiro turns to offer a leaderly frown over his shoulder, although Keith can see the corners of his mouth twitching in the start of a smile.

“No one is going to be carrying any-“

Shiro cuts off with a strangled sound. Jerks. His hand flies up to his neck, clutching at the sliver of skin beneath the collar of his armour. A strange, high, startled sound bursts out of his throat, then his arm whiplashes out, tossing something small and black into the mud. 

It lands at Keith’s feet, sending little brown splatters over his already ruined boots. Keith jerks, surprised, eyes falling automatically to whatever Shiro had thrown. The little black object squirms, moving with a disturbing, pulsing roll, like something dying. Already, it’s coated in thick brown filth, but Keith can make out the twitch of insectile legs, a swollen black abdomen, the wicked point of something that must be a sting. He recoils. 

“Shiro?” 

Lance’s voice is surprisingly sharp, nothing like the annoying whine from just moments before. Keith turns automatically at the sound, searching out the Black Paladin, heart already pounding under his armour. The edge to Lance’s voice can’t mean anything good. They’ve been a team for long enough that Keith can pick out the urgency of the sound, devoid of any of Lance’s normal teasing humour. 

When his eyes catch on Shiro, he sees the Black Paladin is standing very still, his arm still clutching at the side of his neck. All of the colour has drained right out of his face. He’s so pale he’s almost white, his eyes wide and liquid dark, his mouth a strained black seam. It’s an expression Keith has only seen a few times before. It’s the face Shiro makes when he’s in pain and trying desperately to hide it. 

“Shiro?” Keith asks, echoing the Blue Paladin, stepping forward with a nasty squelch. 

When he touches Shiro’s arm, light enough that Shiro probably can’t even feel it beneath his armour, Shiro whimpers, the sound slipping out from between his tightly sealed lips, and his eyes squeeze shut. For a moment, he stays like that, face a tight mask of pain, one hand clasped over his throat, his whole body so tense that Keith can see him trembling even under his armour. Then he sinks to his knees in the mud with a grace that probably only Shiro could manage, and screams.

The sound spears through Keith’s chest like a bullet. He jolts forward automatically. Sees, out of the corner of his eye, the other paladins doing the same. 

Shiro is curled over his thighs, both hands at his throat, squeezing tight enough that Keith is surprised he even has the breath to scream. It’s hard to see his face, bent over as he is, but Keith can see the gape of his mouth, the tightly-shut crease of his eyes. 

Keith reaches him first, but he hesitates, afraid to touch him, hands fluttering uselessly like frantic birds, fluttering over his shoulders, his biceps, his bowed head. Hunk reaches him next, dropping to his knees beside him with a decisiveness that alludes Keith, sliding one arm around Shiro’s chest, trying to gently pry his hand away with the other to get a look at his neck. But Shiro resists, his whole body one tense line. The scream has tapered into a long, high whine and Hunk winces as he leans over him, repeating Shiro’s name over and over in a low, urgent murmur. 

“What happened?” Lance splatters to a halt beside Keith, clutching at his arm with bony fingers. “What’s wrong?” 

But Keith’s tongue feels too swollen to answer, huge and unwieldy in his mouth. He can’t take his eyes off of Shiro, slumped against Hunk’s broad chest, face white as chalk and slick with sweat. The screaming has stopped, replaced with awful, ragged gasps that sound as though they’re being torn out of his chest. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with Shiro. One moment he was fine, and the next… 

“Was he stung?” Pidge asks, from somewhere behind them and Keith startles, because he had forgotten that horrible _thing_ that Shiro had flung away from him. He turns to see Pidge crouching in the mud, toeing at something half-hidden in the muck.

“Don’t touch it!” Shiro rasps.

Pudge startles, jerking backwards automatically. Shiro tries to struggle upright, his jaw set, Hunk clutching at his arm to hold him steady. He gets one leg under him, foot planted solidly in the mud, before his eyes go wide, and he crashes back against Hunk’s chest with another strangled scream.

“Woah,” Keith gasps, reaching forward to catch him, even though Hunk’s arm is still firm around him. One of Shiro’s hands closes around Keith’s, squeezing tight enough that his armour creaks. 

“God,” Shiro gasps, trailing off into a long, ragged moan. “It hurts.” 

Keith’s skin tightens. Prickles. If Shiro is admitting that it hurts, that means it’s bad. That means that this is serious – as if the screaming and panting and groaning hadn’t already clued him in. 

“It…don’t touch it…don’t…”

Shiro cuts himself off with a sharp inhale. Drops Keith’s wrist like it’s burnt him. Tries to pull himself away from Hunk’s grip. Hunk lets him sink towards the ground, although he doesn’t relinquish his hold and Shiro tries to brace himself on his prosthetic. The limb flickers, little violet flashes of energy, humming dangerously as Shiro grinds it into the earth. The sound of his desperate breaths reminds Keith a little of an injured animal. Something small and hurt and _dying_. He shudders. 

“OK,” Pidge says, shakily, moving away from the offending insect, sidling closer to Shiro and watching him with a tight expression. “We won’t touch it. But Shiro, if you were stung it might be serious. It might – we need to get back to the village.” 

Shiro twitches his head, as if he wants to shake it. The tendons of his neck are corded tight, rough ridges snaking down the tense line of his throat, disappearing into the collar of his uniform. He’s so stiff that Keith isn’t sure if he actually can shake his head, physically. It’s as if whatever had stung him has paralysed him from the shoulders up. 

“I’m fine. I’m –“ A tight noise at the back of his throat. “I’m not sure…” 

He breaks off to groan again, lifting his prosthetic and sinking forward until his forehead is pressed into the mud, Hunk’s arm still wrapped loosely around his chest, then slams it back down beside his head. Then he does it again, and again, the groan rising in volume with each violent movement until it’s almost a scream.

Beside Keith, Lance makes his own tight sound, his hands clenching around Keith’s bicep. It’s enough to finally jolt Keith out of his horrified paralysis. He jerks his arm free of Lance’s hold, ignoring his startled sound of complaint, and drops to his knees on Shiro’s other side. His gaze catches on Hunk’s over the curve of Shiro’s back. The Yellow Paladin’s eyes are shining, as if he might be about to cry. 

“You’re clearly not fine,” Keith snaps, struggling to keep the frustration out of his voice. 

He reaches out to gently tilt Shiro’s head enough to get a look at his neck, but Shiro jerks away from him. When the Black Paladin lifts his head, his eyes are wide and glazed, and there’s foamy spittle dripping over his chin. Keith’s chest seizes. 

“Don’t,” Shiro manages between pants. “Don’t touch me…stay…stay away…” 

His eyes flicker to Lance, then Pidge where they’re standing above him, then over Keith and finally Hunk. There’s no recognition in them. Most likely Shiro’s having a flashback, triggered by the pain he’s clearly in. The thought turns Keith’s stomach, but he’s not surprised. If there’s one thing that seems to connect Shiro’s fractured memories of the Galra, it’s pain. 

“OK,” he says, gently, holding his hands up to mirror Hunk on Shiro’s other side. “It’s OK, Shiro, we just need to get you back to the village. We don’t know what stung you.” 

Shiro just stares blankly. Then he winces, both hands coming up – one to clutch at his neck again, the other to hover protectively at his chest, still flickering. 

“C’mon buddy,” Lance tries. His voice is shaking, Keith can hear the squelch of him shifting from foot-to-foot close behind him. “We’re not gonna hurt you. You’re lucky, huh? You get to be carried back.” 

Shiro doesn’t respond, just trembles, still panting. Hunk risks reaching out and brushing his hand over Shiro’s arm and the Black Paladin doesn’t even seem to notice. 

“OK,” Hunk murmurs, firming his grip around Shiro. “I’m going to pick you up now.” 

He tugs Shiro’s arm away from his neck and slides it carefully over his shoulders, pulling him against his side. Shiro’s eyes slide shut, but the tension in his body doesn’t ease. The muscles in his jaw twitch and jump as he clenches his teeth. His neck stays stiff, as if still paralysed. When Hunk pulls him to his feet, Shiro whimpers. Keith wants to dart under his other arm, but the prosthetic is still lit, and the last thing Keith wants is for Shiro to accidentally hurt him while he can’t control himself. 

“Right. This way.” Pidge circles around them, looking concerned, but determined. She points into the murky distance between the trees. “Bring the bag, Lance. We aren’t going through all this just to forget it.” 

Lance squeaks. He hesitates, eyeing the bag and the little crater in the mud where the insect had been, warily. Whatever the thing was, it’s gone now. Keith must have missed the movement with his focus on Shiro. Hopefully it’s far away and not likely to sting anyone else, but Keith understands Lance’s reluctance - if even Shiro is so badly affected, he doesn’t want to know what a sting must feel like. 

Finally, Lance steps forward and hoists the bag onto his shoulder. No one complains as they make their slow way back to the village – not Hunk, although he’s doing most of the work, with Shiro dangling heavy from his shoulder, his arm still flickering too dangerously for Keith to offer any support. Not Lance, who had been so whiny before Shiro had been stung, now struggling through the mud at the back of the procession, the sack of flowers banging against his back with every step. Not even Shiro, who’s eyes are squeezed tightly shut, his jaw clenched even more firmly. Sweat practically pours off of him, running in rivulets over his cheeks, dripping off of his nose. Although, Keith thinks, with a tight, painful twist of his stomach, some of it might actually be tears. Shiro’s lashes are damp and spiky against his cheeks. What Keith can see of his neck is red and swollen. So much so that Keith can practically feel the heat coming off of it. But he’s silent save for the occasional whimper or low, painful groan. The only other noises are the organic sound of the jungle around them, Shiro’s ragged pants, and the heavy breathing of the other paladins as they struggle back towards the clearing. 

Finally, the trees start to thin. Pidge lets out a quiet sound of triumph and rushes forward, sprinting for the treeline, firmer ground already underfoot. Keith wants to run after her, but he doesn’t want to leave Shiro. Some small, scared part of him is terrified that he’ll lose Shiro the moment he takes his eyes off of him. 

“We’re nearly there,” he tells Shiro, instead, hovering at his side as Hunk drags him forward. “They’ll know what to do at the village.” 

Shiro’s head twitches in acknowledgement. His eyes slide open, damp and hazy, but they fix on Keith with a clarity that wasn’t there just a few moments ago. 

“I’m OK,” he slurs, squeezing the words out between gritted teeth. “I think it’s easing up a little. I – “ A wince. A thick swallow. “It doesn’t hurt as much anymore.” 

Keith isn’t sure he believes him. Eyes him sceptically through narrowed eyes. Shiro isn’t screaming, or even really groaning, anymore, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. The Black Paladin has a high pain tolerance, Keith knows - although sometimes he wishes he didn’t - and Shiro hates letting the others know that he’s hurting if he thinks there’s nothing they can do about it. Shiro could have just gotten a better handle on the pain, rather than it actually abating at all. 

Still, it could just as easily be true. Keith has no idea what the strange, alien bug that stung him was. Maybe the sting only lasts a short while. Or maybe the sting lasts for hours, or days. Or maybe it never goes away. Keith has no idea. 

Suddenly, there’s movement up ahead. Shouts. The sound of urgent voices. Pidge crashes back through the trees, followed by the aliens from the village, moving quickly on their six legs, already reaching for both Shiro and the sack still clutched in Lance’s hand. Shiro recoils automatically, and Hunk turns to obscure him with his bulk at the same time that Keith steps forward to block their way. Behind them, Lance lets out a startled squawk as the sack is pulled easily from his grasp. 

“Woah, hold on. You can’t just grab at someone like that.” 

It doesn’t seem to stop the villagers though. One of them gropes at Shiro’s armour, the strange ridge above its eyes rippling like a wave. 

“The Green Paladin told us the Black Paladin was hurt. We can see to him now.” 

“I’m fine,” Shiro tries, pulling away as best he can, still dangling from Hunk’s grip. 

No one seems convinced – not the villagers, not the other paladins, and certainly not Keith. Shiro’s voice is rough and wrecked. His neck is still corded tight, red and swollen and stiff beneath the collar of his uniform. One of the villagers slips past Keith’s makeshift block and immediately reaches for the swollen wound, tracing long fingers over the bump. Shiro flinches back, but the villager just follows. A strange hissing noise slides out from between their teeth.

“An electric sting,” the villager with their hand on Shiro’s neck hisses.

There’s a surrusation of sound rippling through the gathered villagers. A wave of alien voices. 

“Electric sting?” Lance asks, voice surprisingly small. “That – that doesn’t sound good. Actually, that sounds really, really bad.” 

Keith doesn’t disagree. 

One of the aliens circles around them, herding them forward out of the treeline, wide hands against Hunk’s back, catching at Shiro’s waist with the other. Shiro tries to pull away from him, but Hunk is still holding him firmly against his side. 

“Is it bad?” Lance asks, stumbling after them. “He’s going to be OK, right?” 

There’s a pause. Shiro grunts, a low, rough sound of pain. 

“He will be fine,” the alien says, eventually. “It’s not fatal, but it will hurt for a little while.” 

The rush of relief is so strong that it nearly takes Keith out, crashing through his limbs and turning them to jelly. Not fatal. _Not fatal_. 

But Shiro’s still in pain. 

“A little while?” Keith grits out. “How long is a little while?” 

There’s no answer. But the trees have finally cleared, the village appearing before them like a mirage. There’s a little collection of villagers huddled at the treeline and they surge forward as the paladins emerge, more hands, more urgent voices. Someone tries to pry Shiro out of Hunk’s grip and the Black Paladin makes a painful, frantic sound. His prosthetic hums into life, no longer simply flickering, but he doesn’t lash out with it, just holds it in front of his chest like a shield. When Keith gets a proper look at his face, it’s white, still slick with sweat. His eyes are hazed again. Keith’s stomach tightens, he’s obviously dropped into another flashback. 

“Back off,” Keith snarls, although most of the villagers have already taken a wary step back at the flash of Galra purple. 

Hunk flinches too, but he doesn’t pull away. For a trembling moment, Shiro just stands there, taut as a bow, his prosthetic rock steady. Then he sags, the violet glow of his prosthetic dimming back to smooth grey metal. 

One of the aliens steps tentatively forward. “It’s OK,” they say, not touching Shiro this time. “This way. You can wait out the sting in the medical house.”

“Wait it out?” Pidge asks, desperately. “Isn’t there something you can do? An anti-venom or something?” 

The alien shakes their head, expression pinched. “I’m afraid not. We can make him comfortable, but there is no cure. It will not last much longer.” 

“I’m fine,” Shiro slurs, again. 

And Keith definitely doesn’t believe him, but it’s not like there’s anything he can actually do. So he follows along as they drag Shiro into one of the little huts in the centre of the clearing.

By the time they’ve deposited Shiro on one of the beds, he looks a little better - less tense - his eyes clear. His breathing has evened out too and when he speaks his voice is steady.

“I’m fine, honestly. I think it’s faded now.”

One hand covers his neck again, but his face is less obviously pained as he does it. Keith reaches out carefully and layers his own hand over Shiro’s. When Shiro doesn’t flinch, Keith leans forward to press his forehead against the Black Paladin’s.

“You scared me,” he manages. Feels Shiro’s soft huff of breath.

“I know,” Shiro whispers. “I’m sorry.

**Author's Note:**

> I could not figure out how to end this haha
> 
> Also I watched a whole bunch of Coyote Peterson videos before I wrote this :)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed :)
> 
> I have a tumblr at [bearly-writing](https://bearly-writing.tumblr.com/) if you fancy dropping by for a chat!


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